


Made By Marinette

by shmulia



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Christmas Presents, F/M, Friendship, ML Secret Santa, Mostly Fluff, One Shot, a lil bit of angst, present exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 03:18:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9053053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shmulia/pseuds/shmulia
Summary: When Chat Noir visits Marinette before Christmas, he gets two things he didn't expect: a present, and a realisation.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mitchkat1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitchkat1/gifts).



> Written as part of the MLSecretSanta 2k16 gift exchange!

It’s cold on Marinette’s balcony, the soft chill of December dusting the city of Paris. The crisp frost from this morning has disappeared, crushed under the footfalls of people busy with their Christmas shopping, but as the moon starts to brighten in the creeping darkness, the minute droplets begin to re-freeze into pale crystals across the railing of the Dupain-Cheng home.

Marinette’s fingertip brushes across the rail, swiping away lines of slowly-whitening frost in her impatience.

He’s not exactly _late_ – that would suggest there’s a predetermined time for these meetings, that they’re planned well in advance – but he hasn’t arrived yet. And with the temperature seeming to drop with each passing minute, Marinette wonders how long she’ll hold out before she gives in and heads to her warm, soft bed.

_A few minutes more,_ she tells herself, knowing full well that she’ll wait another half an hour if she has to. She glances at the carefully wrapped rectangle which has been placed on an overturned plant pot, and hopes that the paper isn’t dampening as the air begins to sharpen with cold. She places her elbow on the balcony, resting her chin in her palm as she takes in the glimmering skyline.

The yellows and orange which come with any city have been spruced up with the bright reds and greens of Christmas, miniature lights blinking across buildings and colouring the city even in the darkness. Marinette can see her breath now, and she’s not sure the sweater she’s wearing is quite enough to stop the cold seeping into her skin. But she has a gut feeling that he’ll visit tonight – it’s been over a week, after all, and now these little appearances are regular occurrences – and Marinette can’t pull herself away from the balcony to go back indoors just yet. Although the thought of central heating is becoming more and more appealing with every passing moment…

Her patience pays off a few moments later, when she sees a familiar figure bounding across rooftops towards her. A leap graceful enough to impress a dancer brings Chat Noir from the rooftop in front of Marinette to by her side, his baton shrinking as he lands a few steps behind Marinette. He turns with a grin, one eyebrow arched above his mask.

“I take it you were expecting me,” he says, and Marinette can hear surprise lingering behind the blasé tone. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Princess.”

“Well, it’s been a while,” Marinette says, not looking away from the glimmering cityscape. “I figured you’d make an appearance sooner or later.” She feels Chat Noir stand next to her, his arm brushing against hers as he too leans on the balcony.

He takes in the view, visibly impressed despite having spent a good ten minutes travelling across Paris and seeing it in all its holiday splendour. “Have you been out here long?”

Marinette shakes her head, and rests her chin in her palm as she glances at her companion.

“Not really.” She gives Chat Noir a grin. “Long enough to consider the perks of getting outdoor heating, though.” He lets out a laugh, and leans back so that his head is tilted towards the sky, his arms extended out to keep hold of the balcony.

“Imagine how I feel. At least you’ve got a sweater – all I’ve got is this.” He gestures to the thin suit he’s wearing. It keeps him warm enough, a wonderful realisation when he’d had to transform when it was under ten degrees for the first time, but it was hardly winter couture.

Marinette’s eyes light up, and Chat Noir is taken aback by the perky smile she aims at him.

“Funny you should mention that,” she says, moving away from the balcony’s edge towards the small plant pot. For the first time, Chat notices the parcel which has been wrapped in paper so festive it’s obscene. Cartoon baubles and Santas are bright against the white paper, and Chat Noir isn’t entirely sure what’s going on until Marinette is thrusting the present towards him.

“Merry Christmas, Chat!” Marinette declares enthusiastically. She hands him the parcel, and Chat’s mouth drops open as guilt creases his forehead.

“Marinette, thank you, but you really shouldn’t have…” Chat Noir’s mind flits to the box of pastries Marinette gave him earlier that day, something she’d given to all her classmates. For Adrien, Alya, and Nino, however, she’d also included more personal gifts – Alya’s new Ladybug phone case had gone down a treat, Nino had been thrilled with the mini tripod for filming she’d bought him, and Adrien had been given a framed group photo along with a packet of pictures from the class photoshoot.

How Marinette had gotten her hands on the pictures, he isn’t sure, but it had touched Adrien that she’d listened to an offhand comment about his room having a lack of pictures and made such an effort for his present. And here she is again, being far more generous than he deserves.

“It’s nothing,” Marinette says, waving away Chat’s protestations with a warm smile.

“But I didn’t get you anything,” Chat replies, his eyebrows furrowed in guilt. Well, it isn’t exactly true – he has a present for Marinette, ready and waiting to be given to her once Nino’s present finally arrives and he can give everyone their gifts at once – but he hadn’t realised that they were exchanging presents in this friendship too!

Marinette shakes her head, stepping forwards to pat Chat Noir on the shoulder. “I didn’t expect you to,” she tells him kindly. “But I figured that it must get cold hopping across Paris late at night, and thought this might come in handy.” She nods at the present, and Chat Noir takes the hint.

Using the sharp claws of his gloves, Chat slices across the tape carefully, letting the folded flaps of the wrapping peel downwards. He pulls across the layer covering the soft mass underneath, revealing a block of knitting the colour of the pawprint on his ring.

The scarf is green, bright but not quite neon; its tight weaving shows the skill which went into making it, and Chat Noir’s eyes light up as he recognises the familiar make.

“Marinette, it’s wonderful!” he exclaims, draping it around his neck and burying his chin into the soft material, carelessly dropping the paper it was wrapped in. “Where did you get it? I have another just like it!”

Marinette raises an eyebrow, dipping to pick up the wrapping which has begun to flit about on the balcony.

“You definitely don’t,” she laughs, shaking her head. “It’s a Dupain-Cheng original, Chat.”

Chat pauses in his examination of the wool, looking up in surprise. “You made this?”

The nod of Marinette’s head causes Chat’s eyes to widen in turn, and he blinks twice as his mouth drops open.

“See here?” Marinette says, pulling the end of the scarf out of Chat’s grip and flipping the short edge to reveal her name sewn into the knit, the thread barely visible against the vibrant green. “I put this into all my designs – it makes them unique.”

Chat’s throat is dry as he traces Marinette’s threaded name; he must be going crazy, he must be, because he knows fashion well enough to know that this scarf is of the same make as the ice blue one hanging in his closet; the wool feels the same, the stitching is the same. A quick mental comparison tells Chat that even the scarves’ lengths are the same, as far as he can tell.

But his father had bought him the blue scarf, and like hell would Gabriel Agreste have bought his son a present from an unknown designer, no matter how talented she was…

But his eyes meet Marinette’s and he knows she’s telling the truth. She made the green scarf, tailored for him and him alone. And Chat Noir thinks that although he might be wrong about his other scarf, he feels in his gut that he isn’t.

Marinette’s fingers click in front of his nose, and Chat Noir shakes himself out of his thoughts to see Marinette looking at him with worry in her gaze.

“Hey, it’s okay if you don’t like it,” she says, taking a step back and wrapping her arms around herself nervously. “It’s… it’s silly, anyway, you can’t wear it during an akuma battle or anything. I just thought that you’re out in the cold a lot, and might want it if you were just out and about...” She’s beginning to ramble, and Chat Noir isn’t really following her train of thought until she reaches out to slip the scarf from his neck. He grabs her hand before she can remove it, pulling it away from the scarf and moving it to his lips.

“It’s perfect, Marinette. Thank you,” he replies. “I was just a little overwhelmed. You’re really talented - you know that, right?”

The small smile Marinette gives him is one of confidence, of pride; he’s seen it before when she won his father’s hat designing contest, and when she won the votes of her classmate to become class president.

It’s the smile of a Marinette who knows she did a good job, and is thrilled that someone else thinks so.

And then it hits Chat Noir that somehow he’s lucky enough to be friends with this girl _twice_ , and she cares about him enough in each one to make him something with her own two hands on separate occasions.

Marinette is somewhat taken aback when she’s embraced by Chat Noir, who practically jumps at her in his need to somehow convey his sheer gratitude. Although she’s surprised by the gesture, Marinette wraps her arms around Chat’s back, letting the wrapping paper in her hand crinkle against his catsuit, and presses her forehead against his shoulder.

It’s a combination of friendship and the legitimate need for warmth. Really, her sweater is becoming less effective the longer they’re standing out there, but apparently Chat needs to be cuddled and who is she to refuse her friend?

“Thank you,” he murmurs, and Marinette pats him on the back before extracting herself from his hug.

“You’re welcome.” She can’t hide the shiver that courses through her as a breeze caresses their skin, and Chat Noir notices her body tense even as she smiles at him. He tucks the scarf securely around his neck, falling into a bow.

“Princess, I’ve kept you out here far too long. Go back inside and get warm.” His arm sweeps out towards the entrance to Marinette’s room, and Chat Noir winks at his friend. “Seriously. You look like you’re about to freeze.”

Marinette frowns, her lips twisting as Chat straightens himself up.

“But you only just got here,” she protests, confused as to his sudden desire to leave; usually she can’t get rid of him, and they would spend far too long talking and eating and, quite simply, enjoying each other’s company.

Chat nods solemnly, moving to take her hand again. “And I would stay longer, but there’s some… urgent business at home I need to take care of.” He grins. “But I had to come say hi to my Princess, right?”

Marinette snatches her hand back at the flirty tone, rolling her eyes at him. She gives him a half-grin, and he holds his baton out, extending it until it hits the floor with a thud.

“I’ll see you soon, okay?” Chat Noir says. Marinette nods, pulling down the sleeves of her sweater to cover her hands.

“Don’t leave it so late next time, alright?” she laughs. Chat Noir salutes before walking towards the wall, spinning on his heel, and vaulting off of the balcony’s edge.

When he lands on the rooftop opposite, Chat Noir turns back to see Marinette wave at him, then head into her room. He continues his trek home once he knows she’s inside, and for a while Paris’ festivities are sprawled beneath him as he bounds across the glinting edges of houses.

When he falls into his room, a wave of heat embracing him as he pulls off his scarf and detransforms, Adrien wastes no time in running towards his wardrobe. Ignoring Plagg’s enquiries about any cheese which may be waiting for him, Adrien hastily tugs out the baby blue scarf he received months earlier.

When he sees nothing on either side of the edge he’s looking at, he wonders if he’s got the wrong end of the stick. But he checks the other side anyway, and, sure enough, the faintest trace of an M is tucked away in the corner of the scarf.

Adrien holds a scarf in each hand, and lets himself slide to the floor. A small part of him aches, because he really thought his father had made an effort this year. But mostly, he’s just very glad that he knows Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

 

 


End file.
